The Case of the Purloined Penny
by Baroness Emma
Summary: Complete and utter random silliness brought on by a mixture of stress, late nights and finals. A line-by-line collaboration by Sherlockian Girl and Baroness Orc. Yes, we are crazy. Blame it on the school. XD
1. Chapter One

Sherlockian Girl and I have been very stressed out and tired lately, and. . . well, I don't have to explain much more, do I? THIS, my friends, is what happens when you give two bored college girls an internet connection. . .

* * *

**THE CASE OF THE PURLOINED PENNY**

CHAPTER ONE

On one fine spring day Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were walking down the Strand, and there was a penny on the sidewalk.

"Dibbs on the penny!" said Holmes.

At the same precise moment, Inspector Lestrade was just passing by the two gentlemen and saw something shiny on the pavement.

"Hey! A penny!" he cried.

"Brilliant deduction, Lestrade," Holmes replied, "But, you see, I have called dibbs, and that means - HANDS OFF THE PENNY YOU MEDDLING POLICEMEN!!!"

"Oh, come now, Holmes," whined Lestrade. "You just solved a case for the Queen last week and got paid for it! You don't NEED a penny."

"That is perfectly true, Lestrade, but it is clear to me that you have no idea about the inner workings of the concept of dibbs. . ."

"Now, Holmes," Watson interrupted, "what if he had already called dibbs and you just did not hear him?"

"That is utterly IMPOSSIBLE Watson," Holmes scoffed.

"Why?" Watson asked, bewildered.

"Because. . ." Holmes said, ominously, "I. . . am. . . THE HOLMES!

"THE Holmes?" Watson asked, still bewildered. "What about Mycroft??"

"Tsk," said Holmes, "I am "THE HOLMES" and that doesn't mean I'm the ONLY Holmes, it just means that I am the HOLMES, (not THE Holmes, dipstick) and all other Holmes's are just. . ."

As everyone's favorite Sherlock prattled on, Inspector Lestrade picked up the penny.

"Well," the inspector yawned, "This has been wonderful talking yet again about how awesome you are, Holmes, but I really must be going."

Then, without another word, the inspector took off down the street at full speed.

"Must be quite a case," Watson commented to his friend.

"A case of what, dear fellow?" asked Holmes.

"I'd say Lestrade has a case of chronic "LIS", said Watson, officially.

"And what is that?" said Holmes.

"Laughing In Sleeve" Watson replied, smirking, and pointing to the penniless pavement.

Holmes's eyes bugged. "WATSON! YOU SAW HIM TAKE IT!" he screamed, still staring at the empty cobblestones.

Watson held up his hands defensively. "No, no, Holmes, I was utterly engrossed in your bragging about yourself."

"LIES!" Holmes snapped back. "You're a disloyal friend, Watson."

Watson rolled his eyes, "My, you have been bored for the past few days, Holmes - why don't we just call this "The Case of the Purloined Penny" and go chase Lestrade for all he's worth."

But Holmes was already gone, sprinting at top speed down the cobbled street after the Inspector.

"SARCASM, Holmes!" Watson shouted after him. "IT WAS SARCASM!"

In desperation, the doctor called a hansom cab.

"Follow that fiend, driver!" he ordered, and then he muttered under his breath, "I sure hope Holmes doesn't try to explain "dibbs" to Lestrade the same way he tried to explain "social justice" to Moriarty at Reichenbach."

But Watson did not hope too much. It was HOLMES'S penny that had been so unjustly taken, after all. . . . .

* * *

Is there more? Oh yes. . . much more. . .


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Lestrade was tired. Very very tired. He had been running from an enraged Sherlock Holmes for fifteen minutes now, and the Inspector had finally discovered that he was not built for running.

But he kept on.

Mostly because all he could hear was a very mad Sherlock Holmes growling,"Steal what /I/ have dibbs on, will you, Inspector?!?!?!?!?"

He considered what this was worth. Was a penny really worth all this trouble? He closed his fist around the coin even tighter and smiled to himself. Yes. Yes, it was. He would beat Sherlock Holmes at SOMETHING.

But where to go now?

Suddenly, someone came dashing up on a horse, and they picked up the Inspector by the collar of his coat, threw him across the saddle, and shouted "Yeee Haw, Inspector! Weeeeel git him a-gain wee weel."

The Inspector gaped.

"Irene Adler?" he said, bewildered, "I didn't know you had moved to Texas."

"Yah, Inspector, Ah just a moved on over thar t'escape this meddlesome detective, y'know?"

"What. . . are you. . . going to do now?" Lestrade gasped, not quite comfortable in his position stretched across the saddle.

"Ima gonna run him ovah wit dis heah horse."

"You c. . . can. . . d. . . do that?" Lestrade asked as they pulled up sharply, and turned the horse into Holmes's path of blazing fury.

"Ahv corse hon. 'Taint like I'm IN LUV with the fellah."

Then, just as the horse and Holmes were about to collide, Watson's hansom collided with Miss Irene Adler and the Inspector with terrible force.

"OW," said Irene Adler.

"OW," said Inspector Lestrade.

"OW," said Doctor Watson.

"OW," said the horse.

Sherlock Holmes, who had by now caught up with them all, screamed, "AHHHHHH! TALKING HORSE!!!"

Meanwhile, Lestrade had managed to crawl away from the immense pileup with his penny still intact.

Sherlock Holmes spotted him and yelled, "EEEEEP! Inspector Lestrade acting like a criminal! AUGH! Too. . . much. . . that. . . is. . . not. . . logical. . . brain. . . shutting. . . down. . ."

At this, Watson leapt from the wreckage of the hansom with a snarl and stomped over to where Holmes had collapsed to the ground.

"Knock it off, Holmes," Watson snapped, planting himself in front of his friend. "If you're so bored that we have to chase Inspector Lestrade clear across London because he took your penny, by all means, please go use the cocaine."

"Awl, don' warry aboot 'im," grunted Irene Adler, clawing her way free from the wreckage as well, "'Eel git better jus' as soon as that Inspectoor and 'im kin dool it out."

"There will be NO dueling, Miss Adler," Watson replied firmly.

Sherlock Holmes had begun to squirm away, but the good doctor placed a firm boot on his companion's back.

"I. . . want. . . my. . . penny. . ." Holmes gasped, now pinned firmly to the ground.

Lestrade picked himself up off the ground, shaking himself to rid his coat of the dust.

"Well, Holmes. . ." he said, slightly dazedly, "If you promise no more bragging for a month, I'll toss you for it."

"Lestrade, Lestrade," Holmes sniffed deprecatingly. "How many times have I told you that the truly honest endeavors of man cannot be decided by a mere incident of chance?"

Watson's boot pressed harder into Holmes's back. "Call it," the doctor said between clenched teeth.

"Humurf," said Holmes, his face now pressed into the muddy cobblestones.

"What was that Holmes?" asked Lestrade, a note of triumph in his voice.

"HermurrRRRRFF" roared Holmes, pushing himself up and around, grabbing Watson's leg and using one of his famous Baritsu holds, he managed to wrestle the doctor off of him.

"Heads," he growled.

Lestrade flipped the coin. "It's tails."

"LIE!" yelped the detective, struggling to his feet. "Let me see!"

"NO!" yelled the Inspector, and gripping the penny in his fist, took a swing at Holmes, which he dodged.

Planting his feet on the cobblestones, Holmes prepared for a good old round of fisticuffs.

"Ooooo, nah, THIS is wha I cam back to the Ol' Country," said Irene Adler, sitting comfortably on a nearby box, and munching some popcorn.

Watson sighed as he collapsed onto a box beside her. He was helpless in this matter.

When Sherlock Holmes was bored, the world had better watch out.

"You're the referee, Watson," Holmes sang out, excited at the idea of punching the annoying Scotland Yard official.

Lestrade was just about to yell "Bring it ON!" when all of a sudden there was a piercing scream of -

"Chooooooooooooooooocoooooooooooolaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

And all eyes turned to the ghost of Moriarty.

* * *

Will this madness go on? Oh yes. . . there is more madness to come. . .


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"PROFESSOR MORIARTY?!?!?!" four voices shouted at once.

"AHAH! It is I," cackled the apparition, "And I have come. . . for. . . my. . . penny!"

"YOUR penny?!" Holmes sputtered. "I dare say you did NOT call dibbs on it!"

"Oh, come ON!" Watson yelled, clearly wearied of the whole affair. "This is getting positively RIDICULOUS!"

"Okay Watson," said the ghost of the most dangerous man in London, "Just this once - we'll let YOU pick where the story goes next. . ." and here the ghost gestured promptingly at Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes sighed, "Alright. Fine. Where do you want to go Watson?"

"Lunch," said the doctor.

"How could you think about your stomach at a time like this, Watson?"

"Some of us normal human beings do eat, Holmes," Watson retorted sulkily.

"But. . . but. . . the. . . penny! What about the PENNY?!"

Watson rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Yes, about that. . ." said the ghost of Moriarty, "Lestraaaaaaaade, yoooooouuuuu, willllll, giiiiiiivvvveeeeee, meeeeeeeeee, theeeeeee, pennyyyyyyyyyy."

Lestrade looked at the floating, half clear, very draggled rat looking ghost, and raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Why should I?" he asked.

"Because I lost all my money at Reichenbach," Moriarty mumbled sourly.

"Serves you right, you obnoxious person," Holmes added emphatically.

"You know, it IS actually his penny," said the horse.

"Shuddup you," said Irene Adler, slapping the horse on the neck.

"I will NOT," said the horse, "I happen to be right."

"Uh-huh," said Sherlock, "And how would you know?"

"Because. . ." the horse paused, and rather clumsily got out of it's horse-like skin, "I AM SIR ARTHER CONAN DOYLE, AND I WROTE THE WHOLE THING, SO I OUGHTA KNOW!

"Arthur. . . Conan. . . Doyle. . . NO. . . IT'S. . . NOT. . . LOGICAL. . ." Holmes gasped, burying his face in his hands.

"I thought I killed you off, Moriarty," said ACD, rather miffed at the prospect of yet ANOTHER character surviving his author.

"And so you did," said the ghost, "But what's the point of being dead if you can't have fun with it?"

"You know, he's RIGHT!" said, of all people, Sherlock Holmes, "Being dead IS too much fun. That's why I'm still alive."

Watson snapped his fingers impatiently. "It's great and all talking about these breaches in literary occurrences and probabilities, but blast it, I'm still hungry!"

"Sir," began Sherlock Holmes as he turned to ACD, "I know that you hate me and wish me to die but my adoring fans won't let you and such things, but perhaps you could do us a favor."

ACD scowled beneath his bushy eyebrows. "And what is that?"

"Make Lestrade give me the penny."

And then everybody disappeared in a cloud of improbability.

* * *

How long can this insanity last? We don't know. . . but we will find out. Oh, yes. We will.


	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Night had fallen. It had fallen rather hard and bruised its knee. But it didn't much matter, because four people and a ghost were sitting comfortably at 221b Baker Street, sipping whiskey and soda, port, cr_è_me de menthe, beer and Sprite - as their taste demanded.

"It really was a most interesting case, Watson," said Holmes, "My whole mass reincarnation theory hinges on the fact that Moriarty is still a ghost, and Sir Arthur is-"

"Mr. Holmes, sir," Mrs. Hudson said, interrupting the detective as she bustled into the room. "There's a gentleman to see you."

"What's he look like?"

Mrs. Hudson moved her hands awkwardly and stared down at the floor.

"Well. . ." she said, hesitantly, "He says he's a remnant from the fabric of space-time and he's here to see you about a one cent debt you owe on your Comcast account and he says there either has been or will be a murder on Twelfth Street and - "

"MRS. HUDSON!!!!" Holmes interrupted testily, "What. Does. He. Look. Like?"

"Um. . . . well. . ." she said, reluctantly, "Mr. Holmes, sir. . . he looks like you."

"WHAT?"

"She said-"

"I'M NOT DEAF, WATSON!!"

Watson looked suspiciously toward the door. "It sounds like it's you. . . from the FUTURE."

"Can't. . . take. . . all. . . these. . . illogical. . . circumstances. . ."Holmes choked, looking sick.

Just then the ghost of Moriarty put down his Sprite and jumped up, looking as enraged as a soaked and tattered undead person can.

"THIS is why I died?" he yelled, "So that a future you can pay his Comcast bill? AUGH! I'm telling you! THAT. . . WAS. . . MY. . . PENNY!!!!!!"

"I wish ACD would kill him again," Lestrade muttered to himself.

Watson had had enough. "WHY IS ONE PENNY WE FOUND ON THE STREET SO DEUCED IMPORTANT TO EVERYONE?! AM I COMPLETELY MISSING SOMETHING?!"

"You always miss something, Watson," Holmes pointed out quietly.

Suddenly, Watson trotted over to Lestrade.

"Give me the penny," he said, ominously.

"Why?" asked Lestrade, stubbornly.

"Because the last time we fought over this small piece of copper currency, we got sent through an improbability time warp in which Irene Adler got turned into a rather nice looking pianoforte, Holmes's deerstalker got dyed fluorescent yellow and I GOT TURNED INTO A HORSE!!!"

"See," said Holmes, "You ALWAYS miss something."

"I don't CARE what I missed, as I have come to a most regrettable decision," the good doctor announced, snatching the coin from the inspector's hand.

"And what is that?" Holmes asked as he leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips.

Watson drew a deep breath. "We must DESTROY the penny."

The Holmes-From-The-Future then burst into the room with a "I WILL TAKE THE PENNY TO MORDOR!!!!"

Victorian Holmes stood up and planted himself before the stranger. "You will do no such thing."

Lestrade scratched his head. "Is Mordor near London, because the trains at Charing Cross don't-"

Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson rushed into the room.

"He was RIGHT, Mr. Holmes," she panted, "There has been murder on Twelfth Street."

Holmes rolled his eyes. "Oh bother."

* * *

There is more coming. . . Oh yes, there is. . .


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Holmes, Watson, and Lestrade had left the group of strange guests back in the rooms of Baker Street and were now making their way to Twelfth Street.

Suddenly, Watson tripped for no apparent reason and crashed to the ground with a "OOF!" A shiny object flew out of his hand and tinkled on the ground. Holmes turned around, quite miffed at being delayed when something caught his eye. "THE PENNY!"

"Ohhhhhhh, no you don't," said Lestrade, "Murder's THIS way, Holmes. C'mon," he said talking like he would to a very small puppy, "C'mon, c'mon, this way, this way boy, c'mon, follow the murder. . ."

Holmes forgot the troublesome penny for a moment and did as he was bid. They arrived at a mansion that could only be described as aptly creepy. The three men sprang up the few steps to the front door and slowly opened it to find. . .

A very, very, very, VERY nice pianoforte.

With a dead body hunched over it.

And a horse standing nearby.

"Look!" cried Holmes. "It's Silver Blaze!"

"Hey!" said Watson, "Is that the pianoforte that Irene Adler turned into?"

"Yes," said the pianoforte in a perfect English accent, "Would you mind getting this dead body off me please?"

"Nah," Holmes replied, ignoring this strange alteration in the universe of improbability. "Let's solve the murder first."

"Wahhhhhhhhh," wailed the pianoforte, "Doctor Watson, are YOU going to save me?"

"Nope," said Watson, imperturbably, "Lestrade, you look after the pony, and Holmes and I will search upstairs."

And so the dynamic duo ascended the creaky, worn, old, rickety, dilapidated, shabby, battered, run-down stairs to the top floor. There, in the room on the right, lay the body of. . .

ACD.

"Yep, that's what I thought," said Holmes.

"You KNEW about this, Holmes?" asked Watson, stunned.

"Well, yes," the detective said whipping out his magnifying glass, "I was trying to tell everybody about it when I was SO RUDELY INTERRUPTED by a certain detective from the future who is now having to entertain the ghost of Moriarty."

"Wait," Watson whispered, his gaze darting to the body. "If Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is dead, then how are we still here?"

"Because, the REAL ACD is hunched over the pianoforte downstairs, and this is the one who was dressed up like a horse earlier today."

"Wha. . .?" said Watson, now completely confused.

Holmes sighed. "I was TRYING to explain my theory of mass reincarnation earlier, but I interrupted myself with a remnant from the fabric of space time and now we have TWO dead authors and a continuous feedback history loop."

Watson's eyes crossed. "Then which ACD should we be concerned about?"

"Neither," Holmes said matter-of-factly. "Because neither of them exist! If we are here at present, then by the laws of the author-character continuum in the fields of the physical states of historical and literary significances, and all speculation and theories aside, he cannot, in fact, be real."

Watson felt on the verge of rummaging his coat pocket for an Advil when the attic door opened and in walked the horse that looked like Silver Blaze.

Watson growled "Rggggg! LESTRADE!!!!" he yelled, then muttered, "And WHY are horses so gosh darn important all of a sudden?"

"Ask it its name," said Holmes, while inspecting a windowsill with his magnifying glass.

"Wah?" said Watson, intelligently.

"Ask the horse its name," prompted Holmes, quietly.

The doctor look muddledly at the horse and asked it what its name was.

"Penny," it said.

"That reminds me," Holmes piped up, turning away from his work at the windowsill. "I still haven't gotten my pe-"

"OH, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD!" cried Watson. "THIS HAS GOT TO BE A NIGHTMARE!"

"No, no, my dear Watson," said the world's greatest detective, calmly, "It is merely the inner workings of dibbs. Nothing more."

* * *

Do you want more randomosity? Well, there IS more randomosity. Much, much more. . . .


	6. Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Lestrade was getting very creeped out by standing alone in a room with a dead body and a talking pianoforte when all of a sudden, the body rose from the piano and turned stiffly toward the Scotland Yard inspector.

"AUGGGGHHHHHHHHH!"

"Hush, Lestrade!" said the ex-corpse. "It is only I, ACD."

"AGAIN?!"

"Yes, and I want you to help me with a plan."

"What plan?"

"TO KILL OFF SHERLOCK HOLMES ONCE AND FOR ALL! MWAHAHAH!"

"Argh," said the pianoforte, "And I can't help."

The zombie ACD looked at her slyly.

"Actually. . . you caaaaaaaan."

And with a deft whirl of his pen, ACD transformed the pianoforte back into Irene Adler, who emerged looking lovely as ever.

ACD looked slyly from the inspector to the woman and back again.

"Since I created you two, you are slaves to my will. Mwaha. Now, my plan is to turn all of Scotland Yard into a Zombie army that shall obey my every command -"

"Hey!" said Lestrade, incredulous.

"What's wrong with that?" ACD growled, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, you'd have to kill us first in order for us to become zombies."

ACD cackled manically as he rubbed his hands together. "But of course!"

The zombie author twirled his magic pen, and a host of undead policeman came trooping up to the door of the mansion.

"Perfect," said ACD, "And now I will create an army of zombie opera singers who will ALSO do my every bidding."

"Hey!" said Irene Adler, insulted.

"And I suppose you'll create an army of undead detectives to kill me as well," said Sherlock Holmes, from where he stood at the top of the stairs.

"No," said the author, "I shall simply wave my magic pen and kill off the you from the future, thus embroiling you in a huge monetary debt to Comcast and sending you into preliminary bipolar depression which will lead too. . ."

"Hmph," said the detective, "I can see why you never got around to killing me again for real. Do zombies always talk this much?"

Suddenly, one of the undead policemen tackled ACD to the ground. "You're under arrest, sir!"

"OH NO YOU DON'T" the author shouted, and desperately scribbled a random something across the face of the zombie policeman.

Then the whole army of zombies disappeared in a cloud of orange smoke, Irene Adler was a potted palm tree, Lestrade was a horse, Watson was wearing a Darth Vader costume and a rather nice pair of Nike Airs, and the ghost of the future Sherlock Holmes was hovering over one shoulder of the Victorian Sherlock, and the ghost of Moriarty was hovering over the other.

"Oops," said ACD.

"ACD," said Watson, breathing heavily, "have you ever thought about what it would be like if your CHARACTERS killed you?"

"I'm getting deuced close to it," growled Victorian Sherlock Holmes.

"And now that I'm a ghost," said the future Sherlock, "I'll need you to dematerialize that penny. . ."

"Wait," said Moriarty's spirit, "Both of you want the penny, right?"

"Yes," said two Sherlocks in chorus.

"Then where is it?"

"In my pocket," said Lestrade.

The potted palm screamed "BUT Y'ALL ARE A HORSE NAH!!"

Victorian Sherlock was tired of Irene Adler by this point and promptly dropkicked the screaming potted plant off a nearby cliff.

"Now then, Lestrade," said Sherlock, dusting off his hands and trying to wave away the two spectres that were having a ghosty duel around his head, "Shall we see what we can do about this meddlesome Sir Arthur?"

* * *

And, the craziness shall continue. . . love it or not. . . (^_^)


	7. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

ACD was not amused and decided to do something involving the one thing Sherlock Holmes was afraid of most.

Women.

With a flourish of his still intact magic pen, ACD summoned up Snow White, Princess Leia, Bathsheba, Arwen Evenstar, and Marguerite Blakeney, who all at once surrounded the rather misogynist Sherlock Holmes.

"AHHH! THE FEMALE SPECIES!" screamed the detective.

"Oh, Holmes, DO lighten up," said Watson, who had taken off the Darth Vader costume, but was still wearing the rather stylish Nike Airs, "They're just girls, and all of them are married, so there's nothing to worry about."

"I don't care," Holmes gasped, shrinking away from the group of women. "They have cooties."

Lestrade, who was still a horse, was laughing so hard through his horse-ish teeth that he nearly exploded. But he decided that the poor detective - annoying though he could be - did not deserve this punishment. He decided to intervene.

He whinnied. And tossed his head. And reared up and pawed the air. And made his best "I'm a cute pony" face.

*GASP* "CUTE PONY!!!!!" squealed the whole group of women, and they all rushed to Lestrade's side.

"Let's give him a bath!" said Snow White.

"No, I think he needs a good curry combing," said Arwen.

Lady Blakeney mused, "I wonder where his saddle is."

"He has a penny embedded in his side, poor thing," said Bathsheba.

Princess Leia asked, "What's a pony?"

"Let's get out of here, Watson," Holmes whispered to his sidekick, edging away from the commotion around the horse.

But ACD was not done with his creation. He summoned a horde of fanfiction writers, who came screaming toward their favorite detective.

"LET'S SHIP HIM WITH SOMEBODY!!" shrieked the romantics in the group.

"Oh, God no," muttered the ghost of the future Sherlock Holmes, who happened to know what "shipping" meant, "This is about to get painful. . ."

"Jeez, how come I NEVER GET THE GIRL?????" grumped the ghost of Moriarty.

"BECAUSE I KILLED YOU, YOU UTTERLY STUPID AND TERRIBLY HORRID BAD GUY!!!!!!!" shrieked ACD.

Watson nudged the Victorian Holmes, who was trying to fade into the floorboards, "Psst, Holmes!" he whispered, "Let's get ACD's pen."

"Trying...Watson," gasped the detective, who was suddenly tackled to the ground by the nearest fanfictionite.

"I think you go best with Irene Adler," declared the fanfic writer, scribbling in her notebook the outline to her next story. "Sherlock and Irene, together forev-"

"AUGHHHH!" screamed Holmes, struggling to be free of the persistent fan. "HELP ME, ACD!!"

"You're right," said the author with a smirk, "That's worse than death. Ask them nicely and maybe they'll put you with Violet Hunter."

"Can I be your best man?" Watson asked, snickering.

"SHUT UP, WATSON! I'M NOT GETTING MARRIED!" screamed Sherlock, still struggling to peel off the clinging writer. "IT. . . DOES. . . NOT. . . SUIT. . . ME!!"

Several fangirl fanfictioneers jumped on Holmes and started yelling "DO YOU KNOW YOU LOOK JUST LIKE JEREMY BRETT!?!?!?!?! *SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE*

"AIIIIIIII! NO TOUCHY!!!!!!!!!!!!" yelled Holmes, "NO TOUCHYYYYYYYYYY! There NEVER has been any touchy and there NEVER WILL BE! ACKKKKKK!"

Sherlock flailed, trying to scrape off the mass of obsessed girls who were assaulting him, and trying doubly hard to ignore the laughter that was coming from every other part of the room.

"OMG, we have to make a YouTube video of him!" screamed one of the girls.

"With really sappy music and lovey-dovey titles!!!!!"

And out came the laptops and video phones to swamp YouTube with another 9,388 saccharine Holmes tributes.

"AUGHHHHH! THEY'RE MAKING LOVE TRIBUTES TO ME!!" screeched Holmes, gasping for breath amidst the growing crowd of SH-obsessed females around him.

"Ah-hem," said the ghost of the Future Holmes, "Ladies," he clapped his ghosty hands together, "Ladies!"

The horde of fanfictionites all turned to the hovering and eminently untouchable version of their hero.

"Ladies," he said again, "May I point out that the man who brought you here - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - THAT man," he said pointing to ACD, "is, at this very moment, attempting to kill Mr. Sherlock Holmes. . . forever."

There was a very deadly silence.

And then the mob turned on the author. "YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL OFF OUR LOVE?!?!?!" they screeched in one accord.

And they jumped ACD, smacking him with their notebooks and pencils in their indignant fury, and ripping the magic pen from his hand.

"Right, that's done it," said the Future Holmes, "Now then, Watson?" he hovered over the trust doctor, "You know what to do."

"Right," said Watson, squaring his shoulders, "Let's get out of here."

And then he picked up the fainting Victorian Sherlock Holmes (who was still muttering "no touchy") and leapt onto Lestrade's back and kicked the horse-policeman's sides with his Nike Airs.

As they soared majestically over the crowd, and landed smartly on the cobblestones, the ghost of the Future Sherlock Holmes smiled grimly to himself, and picked up the penny.

"Well, my precious," he said, ghostily, "Shall we pay our Comcast bill?"

* * *

When will this madness end? We have no idea. . . . . . .


	8. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Irene Adler was not amused. She was not accustomed to being magically turned into a potted plant. Neither was she fond of being dropkicked off a cliff by that blasted detective.

She would get him for this.

"Moriarty!!!!!!" she yelled from her shattered clay pot, "GET ME OFF OF THIS CLIFF!!!!"

"Fat chance, woman," yelled back the Napoleon of Crime. "You'll only try and kill us all!"

"Get. . . ACD's. . . pen," growled Irene Adler. "Or so help me, I will DATE you!"

"Ha ha," said Moriarty, "Stupid puns like like that are all I expect from a potted palm tree!!!"

Irene Adler mentally moved Moriarty to the top of her hit-list.

Meanwhile, ACD, who had just extricated himself from the mob of angry SH fangirls, was searching frantically for his magic pen.

"NO!" he growled, "MY SOURCE OF POWER!!!!!"

"Looking for THIS?" came the lilting tones of a very satisfied detective.

"Sherlock!" said ACD, for the Victorian Holmes was standing in front of the mansion, holding the pen and looking VERY pleased with himself, "You CAN'T, Sherlock. . ."

Holmes laughed a very short laugh.

"Oh but I CAN, Sir Arthur, just watch me." And with a whirl of his creator's pen, Victorian Holmes, Watson, and ACD disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

And when the mist cleared, they found themselves at a very familiar location.

Reichenbach Falls.

*Pant pant pant* - went ACD. "Wha? Why are we HERE?"

"You'll see," said Holmes, crisply, "Watson?"

"What?"

Holmes rolled his eyes. "Y'know..."

"No, I don't, Holmes," Watson said slowly. He pointed to the author. "I confess that I'm as lost as he is."

"RRRGHHHHH," the detective snarled, thoroughly put up with everyone's complete lack of insight. "C'MON, WATSON! WE'RE AT REICHENBACH FALLS! Has it totally escaped your memory what happened last time we were here?"

"No, of course not," said the doctor, slightly miffed, "But why are we here NOW???"

"Use your imagination, Watson," said the detective, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves, "DON'T you think it's time our author got a taste of his own medicine?"

Watson looked down at his now rather tattered Nike Airs and remembered that for twenty minutes he had been forced to wear a Darth Vader costume.

Holmes glared over at ACD and fondly remembered being tackled by an obsessed mob of drooling fangirls.

He then glanced toward the brink of Reichenbach. This. Was. Justice.

"Watson," the detective began nonchalantly. "Hold ACD down for a sec."

"Why?"

"Because I am bringing Moriarty back. And NOT as a ghost."

Then it dawned upon Watson. "Soo...you're going to have Moriarty and ACD fight to the death over Reichenbach?"

"Brilliant deduction, Watson. Now then, do as I say!"

Watson effectively tackled ACD to the ground while Holmes was rather surprisingly konked on the head by a future version of himself.

"Tsk," said the Future Holmes, "I had to save your bacon LAST time, and now that the Comcast bill is paid, you'd better let me take care of this one."

"Wait! What did you pay the Comcast bill with?" Watson asked, his eyes growing huge. "You didn't use the-"

"The penny?" interrupted the Future Holmes, "Of course I did. Where do you think Comcast is?"

"You don't mean Mord-"

The Future Holmes smiled tightly, "That red circle in the logo is no lie. Now then, shall we see what we can do about ACD?"

* * *

Heh heh heh. . . it isn't over yet. . .


	9. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

ACD was rather hating his faculties for writing literature at the moment. If it were not for him, he would have ANY version of ANY of his characters dangling him over the cliff at Reichenbach.

Such as it was, he would never see the light of day again. He looked down the rushing waterfall, then over to the man clutching his lapels, who was not actually a man, but a rather smartly dressed Irene Adler.

"GAH!" gasped the author, his eyes as big as hubcaps. "Where did you come from?"

"This is a crackfic, ACD," replied the woman as she smiled evilly at him. "ANYTHING can happen."

"And if you would be so good as to think about it for a second," said the Holmes from the future, "This is much more poetic justice than simply having Moriarty swoop in and off you with a stick."

"Unfortunately," said the Victorian Holmes, sitting up and shaking his head, "There is still the space-time continuum to think about," and he once more twirled the magic pen.

There was a flash of light and a cloud of smoke surrounded the party above Reichenbach. Suddenly, something went terribly wrong. For out of the mist came none other than Dr. Grimesby "I can twist steel pokers into knots" Roylott.

"HEY!" said Holmes, testily, "I wrote "Moriarty" - what are YOU doing here?"

"Villain exchange program," he growled.

"Oh GEEZ, SERIOUSLY??" Holmes whined. "Alright, what do you want, you messed up excuse for a-"

Dr. Roylott took a step forward and grabbed Holmes by the cravat around his neck. "I want. . ." the evil doctor paused, and rolled his eyes a bit, "Oh dude, this sounds so WEIRD, but it's what he told me to say, so I've got to say it. . .*ahem*. . . I. WANT. MY. PENNY!!!!!"

"Oh LORD!" Watson swore, "What is it with you people and a stupid piece of copper currency?!"

"Don't make me sic my snake on you," warned Roylott in a dangerous tone.

"So what?" asked Waston, annoyed, "I carry swamp adder anti-serum with me everywhere - the point is - WHAT ON EARTH IS THE POINT WITH THIS PENNY???????"

"Because I called dibbs on it," muttered Sherlock Holmes testily. "Why can't anyone GET that??"

"Because," Irene Adler growled, still holding ACD precariously over the edge of Reichenbach, "Dibbs is a STUPID ritual, usually only practiced by elementary school children!!!!"

"Uh-huh," said the Victorian Holmes, unimpressed, "I direct your attention to the word "elementary", which, incidentally is my catchphrase. You're just jealous because you don't have one."

Meanwhile, Watson was pondering how little Irene Adler was able to hold the rather heavy ACD over Reichenbach all by herself WHILE verbally fighting with Sherlock Holmes.

Apparently the Holmes from the future was wondering too, and piped up with, "Hey Adler! I just called you off of your own cliff so you could push ACD into the thundering abyss, why are you just holding him there?"

The Victorian Holmes had had enough - "BECAUSE!!!!" he shouted, "WE NEED /MORIARTY/ IN ORDER TO GET THE PENNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"I want to go home," Watson whined, giving the Victorian Holmes his best impression of a hurt puppy.

"Watson, you know I can't stand puppy eyes," Holmes growled, looking purposefully the other way.

Watson's eyes got even wider and more pitiful, and the modern Holmes grunted, "Huh, /I/ thought you were supposed to be a Gummi Bear. . . what with Youtube and all. . ."

Watson suddenly became very glum, "No," he said, "I can't be a Gummi Bear right now."

"Why not?"

"Um, well, it's that old camp song. . . you know. . ." he started to hum while pointing at his shoes, *Don't talk to bears in Nike Airs. . . .*

"Not that this isn't FUN, and all," said Dr. Roylott, "but I sort of have to get home to sic my snake on my stepdaughter so I can inherit her money so can we hurry this up?"

"That's nice," said Victorian Holmes distractedly, then whirled on the doctor.

"Holmessssss," hissed Watson, "He's going to kill his stepdaughter!"

"Yes, yes, that's all fine and dandy, but the REAL question is - what is MORIARTY doing right now, and is there anyway to reconcile that with the space-time continuum without compromising the penny. . ."

Watson, too fed up to speak rationally, merely gritted his teeth, grabbed Holmes's wrist, and yanked out ACD's magic pen and whirled it haphazardly in the air.

There was another flash, and he found that he had transported the whole lot of them into a modern day meeting of the London Holmesian Society.

* * *

And just when you thought it wasn't going anywhere. . . . . . . . . . . ;)


	10. Chapter Ten

Pimpernel Princess, this one's for you.

Have a successful finals week!

(^_^)

* * *

CHAPTER TEN

"AIIIIII! PEOPLE DRESSED LIKE SHERLOCK HOLMES!!!!!!!" shouted ACD.

"AHHHHHH! PEOPLE DRESSED LIKE MEEEEE!" screamed Watson.

"EEEEEEEEK! PEOPLE DRESSED LIKE MORIARTY!!!!" yelled Dr. Roylott.

"OOOOGGGGGGG! PEOPLE DRESSED LIKE IRENE ADLER!!!!!!" cringed both Sherlock Holmes's.

"Hey, look, cool costumes!" said Irene Adler.

"And one very upset policeman," said Lestrade, "'Bout time you got here - do you have any idea how unpleasant it is to be turned into a horse?"

"Actually, yeah. . ." said Watson. "But I see you are no longer a horse, Lestrade, so I must conclude that you are merely jealous because you do not have a fanbase like the rest of us."

"Psst, Watson," Victorian Holmes whispered shakily. "You don't see any raving fangirls about the place, do you?"

"Shut up Holmes," said Lestrade, "You can endure whatever is going on here long enough to catch the Napoleon of Crime, can't you?"

The modern Holmes's eyes bugged, "You mean THIS is where Moriarty ended up?"

"Right after you threw the penny into the Crack of Doom, yes," said an old man near the corner of the room.

"Who are YOU?" Victorian Holmes snapped, already irritated by this new scene change.

"I am Gondulf the Green and I have come to guide you back to the One Penny to Rule Them All."

"Oh LORD," Watson swore again, "I am NEVER going to record this. They couldn't pay me to do it."

Then the old man - he was dressed like a tree - began handing out name tags with some pre-assigned names right under the place where is says "HI!!! My name is. . ."

"OK, you are Fro son of Schmo," he said, and stuck one of the sticky tags on the Victorian Holmes, "And you are his best friend Scam Gee," he said to Watson, "And you are Leggy the Elf, and you are Arrogant the King, and you are Bored with-the-Mire son of Dead the More," he said to Adler, the modern Holmes and the now very weirded out Dr. Roylott.

"I was attempting to avoid this, Watson," sighed Fro son of Schmo.

"What?" asked Scam Gee, "Weird old men and horrible puns for names?"

"No," said Fro, "CROSSOVERS! You see what happens when you mess with dibbs? If everyone had just given me the penny in the first place, none of this woul-"

Then the old man interrupted by jumping up on a chair and shouting to the assembled throng -

"WHO WANTS TO BE GIMLET SON OF GROANING???? IT'S UP FOR GRABS IF YOU WANT TO JOIN IN THE ETERNAL QUEST TO DEST-"

"I DON'T WANT TO DESTROY IT! I WANT IT!" yelled Fro, also known as the Victorian Holmes.

"Yeah, well, that's what they all say," muttered Gondulf as he surveyed the company. "Oopsie. We need some more people for your companyyyyyy."

And with a whirl of Gondulf's walking stick/scepter, there was a flash of sparkles and out of the sky plopped none other than Mycroft Holmes.

"Yo Gondulf, Hiya ACD," said Mycroft imperturbably, "How's the penny party goin'?"

ACD fainted.

"YOU KNEW ABOUT ALL THIS??????" screeched both Sherlock Holmes's at once.

"Of course, brothers dear, for it was I who dropped it in the street in the first place."

"You. . .wha. . . WHY, Mycroft, WHY??" the Victorian Holmes whined.

"Because messing with you is the only way I get any pleasure out of life. So then. Who do I get to be in Fellowship? I want Polymer the Horse Lord - is he taken yet?"

"SEEEEEEEE!" said Scam Gee, also known as Watson, "I TOLD you horses were important!!!!!!!!"

But Sherlock Holmes was not listening. He was too busy glaring daggers at his brother to notice poor Watson's astute observation.

"MYCROFT, YOU ALWAYS DID THIS TO ME WHEN WE WERE KIDS!" Holmes yelled suddenly. "YOU'D NEVER LET ME ALONE! And when we'd play Crime Scene, I ALWAYS HAD TO BE THE DEAD GUY WHILE YOU GOT TO BE THE DETECTIVE! WHY?"

Just as Holmes turned another shade of blue, Mycroft replied, "Because you always turn such interesting colors, Sherlock. It's really an amazing talent you have. Anyway, why stop when it's just about to get fun?" Mycroft shrugged, and turned to Gondulf the Green, "So, Mr. Wizard Dude - where are we off to?"

The tall tree-like gentleman waved his stick in a most impressive manner, and glittery sparkles began to engulf the party of bewildered adventurers.

Then he spoke in a thunderous voice, "You. Shall. Go. To. The. Land. Of. MORE DOORS!!!!!". . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

Is it over? Oh no. . . not nearly over. . . . ;)


	11. Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Scam Gee was not amused.

He had started today by walking down the Strand on a quite pleasant spring day, and now he had a horrible pun for a name, a Quest for a penny he did not understand and disliked very much, and above all, he was very, very, Very, VERY, hungry.

"Is there any food in this land?" he grumbled to Gondulf.

"Um, there's a lot of rocks and volcanoes and ash and dust and pebbles and mountains and fire and lava and the occasional wayward tourist."

"Great," mumbled Scam Gee Watson, "we're going to have to resort to cannibalism."

"I vote we start with ACD," said Arrogant - who had been previously known as the Holmes for the Future, "He doesn't have a horrible nickname yet."

"Oh, but he DOES," said Gondulf, "he shall be Far-and-near, the whiny yet somewhat cooler brother of-"

"NO!" screamed ACD. "How dare you insult me thus? What is it with you people?! AUGH! I wish I had never created you!"

And then a terrible thing happened.

They fell through the ground.

"Ooof," said everybody.

"Hm, nice wheels, said Gondulf."

"Holmes?" said Scam Gee, "Why are we in a garage?"

"Because this is the land of More Doors," said Arrogant the King, who was also the modern Holmes, "There are doors everywhere."

"And this one was a garage door?"

"Brilliant deduction Watson."

"Ooooooo, can we use the cars?" said Polymer the Hose Lord, "I've always wanted to drive a lamborghini. . ."

"NO!!!!!!" shouted Gondulf, "We must take a car best suited for our mission." He gave a sudden shout of delight and pointed to the far end of the garage."We'll drive THAT!"

All eyes turned to behold a rather large and psychedelic hippie van.

"IT'S A CAMPER!!!!!!" shouted Fro son of Schmo, "COOOOOOOOOOL!!!!! Can I sleep on the top bunk?"

"NO, Holmes! I called dibbs!" Watson (aka Scam Gee) yelled.

At the mention of the word "dibbs", a curious change came over Sherlock Holmes. In fact, rather a lot of curious change. Actually several tons of change.

To be perfectly frank, it started raining pennies.

"WE'RE RICH!" yelled Lestrade, as he bent down to pick up a penny. Suddenly Sherlock Holmes shouted -

"WAIT!!!!! Which one is the ONE TO RULE THEM ALLLL???????????"

"Does it really matter, Holmes?"

"YES, IT DOES MATTER, WAT-SON!" Holmes yelled back. "Because I. CALLED. DIBBS!!!!!!" Holmes very nearly choked on each word, "IT. IS. IMPORTANT!!!!!"

"Oh look, Fro," said Leggy the Elf, who also happened to be Irene Adler, "There's a door in the hill over there that has "A Rather Nice Italian Bistro" written on it. I wonder what goes on there?"

"FOOD!" screamed Watson, rushing forward in his sudden starving delirium.

"A Rather Nice Italian Bistro?" mumbled Mycroft-who-now-is-Polymer the Horse Lord to the Modern Holmes-who-is-called-Arrogant the King, "This CAN'T be good. . ."

* * *

Ha ha ha! And we MAINTAIN the weirdness! Yes we do. . .


	12. Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lestrade was not amused. Not only was he in a different universe on a strange mission for a penny he thought was his in the first place, and not only was it RAINING pennies in a very uncomfortable manner, and not only was he surrounded with very odd people who would not look at or talk to him, he ALSO was the ONLY person in the Company who did not have a stupid nickname.

This should not have made him feel left out.

But it did.

Because everything about Sherlock Holmes made him feel left out. The infernal detective always withheld important information, made fun of him, and scoffed at his theories involving any case that cropped up.

But no more, Lestrade vowed to himself, he would have his revenge! Starting by looking behind the door that was NEXT to one that said "A Rather Nice Italian Bistro". The one that said "Bob's Knife Shop."

Lestrade considered this most interesting development when yet ANOTHER door opened in the hillside and out came a very round person.

"GREETINGS!!!" he said, with relentless cheerfulness, "I am Bibulous son of Bulbous, and I shall tell you my long and very silly story of how I once went to Air-of-Bore the Lonely Mountain and there fought a battle of wits with Smock the Draggin and came home triumphant with a magic penny that would make me disappear!"

"You. . . have a magic penny?! That will make you disappear?!" Lestrade gasped.

This was the upper hand on Holmes that he had needed for so long. . .

Hours passed and finally Watson looked around him, his eyes narrowing. "Where is Lestrade? It's like he disappeared!"

Which was a very apt observation, indeed.

Old Butternut Squash - the keeper of A Rather Nice Italian Bistro said, "He must've gone into "Bob's Knife Shop" a lot of people have been disappearing in there lately."

"Why?" asked Dr. Roylott/Bored-with-the-Mire son of Dead-the-More - who thought it was high time he asked SOMETHING about this extremely odd adventure he had been roped into, "Who owns Bob's Knife Shop?"

"The Itch King. He's one of the Nostrils."

"That sounds-"

Suddenly, the most extraordinary thing happened. ACD popped up out of nowhere, throwing massive quantities of confetti in the air and holding 34 balloons.

"Today is May 22! It's my birthday!" screamed ACD excitedly.

"Mazel Tov," said Gondulf the Green.

"Wait a minute," said Fro son of Schmo/Victorian Holmes, "Are you Jewish?"

Suddenly, as had been happening quite often recently, there was a flash of light and the company beheld a most unusual sight.

"OF COURSE HE ISN'T!" A man shouted from within the mists.

A man by the name of J.R.R. Tolkien.

A collective groan went up from those assembled.

"ARGGG!" said Polymer the Horse Lord, "He's gonna call copyright infringement on us!"

"Nope," said Tolkien, cheerily, "This is too much fun - I had to join in!"

Then England's most uptight author whipped out ACD's lost magic pen and twirled it in the air. "LET'S GET THIS PAR-TAY STARTED!!!!!!"

* * *

Heh heh HEH! Yep, we've got the wackyness going now, huh?


	13. Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I hate parties," muttered the ever-unsocial Sherlock Holmes as he folded his arms over his chest.

"That's because you've never been to one," muttered Scam Gee/Watson.

"Of course I have! There was that one time when. . ."

"NOOOOOO!" shouted Mycroft/Polymer the Horse Lord, "Don't you DARE tell him!"

"Why?" countered his brother, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "Because you're afraid I'll tell him about when you-"

"SHUT UP, SHERLOCK!"

Gondulf the Green began to laugh, "Is this about the time you almost talked to a girl?"

Mycroft turned purple, "YOU KNOWWWWWWWWW?!?!?!?!? HOW??????"

J. R. R. Tolkien said, "Because I am friends with ACD, and we are The Authors Who Know Allllllllll."

ACD smirked at Mycroft's obvious discomfort. "Don't worry, Mycroft. You can always tell everyone about that time Sherlock almost-"

"AUGH!!" shrieked Sherlock Holmes, "Don't you DARE!"

Watson chuckled, "Oh, you're talking about that time you. . ."

Sherlock/Fro son of Schmo grabbed Watson/Scam Gee in a strangle hold - "That time I nearly KILLED you for telling on me?????"

"You would seriously kill your BFF over that?" choked Watson contemptuously.

"My what?"

"OH NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" screamed Leggy the Elf/Irene Adler, "TEXTSPEAK!!!!! AIAIAIAI!"

All at once the men's arguments were forgotten, for they had at last discovered something that could annoy The Woman.

Sherlock Holmes smiled evilly. "OMG, Miss Adler, Srsly? ROTFLOL! IMHO, you're-"

"AUGH!!!!"

"Watz rong IA???" asked Watson, "U sic?"

"AHEM!!!!" said JRRT, "Not that I'm not LMAO here, but we have an adventure to get on with, you know?"

Meanwhile, Watson was pondering. Pondering why in the world he decided to get out of bed today. He turned to Holmes and said, "Fro. . . I mean Holmes - Why is there a big building over there that looks like a huge smoking mountain and has a huge rotating neon sign above it that say "Your Call Is Important To Us - Please Hold"?

"That," said JRRT, ominously, "is the Mount Doom Bed and Breakfast, where I'm afraid we'll have to spend the night."

"It is also," said Arrogant the King/Modern Holmes, "The local headquarters of Comcast, the major training center for local pilots, and, unfortunately, the region's largest producer of pudding."

"Pudding?" asked ACD.

"Yes," said Leggy the Elf/Irene Adler, "Pudding."

Watson's eyes grew huge. "I LOVE PUDDING!"

"Not so fast!" yelled the Victorian Holmes. "This is not conducive to-"

But Watson, being the poor, starved sidekick that he was because apparently Holmes had no need for food and neither should Watson, had already run into the building.

* * *

Yes. Pudding. Don't worry. It's gonna get better. Or worse. Or. . . well, it's gonna keep going, that's all we know.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

This chapter is dedicated to Guy Ritchie - a man for whom the Tickle Torture is WAY too good a way to die.

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"This is most unusual," said JRRT, "I am not used to having to pay for lodging while in my OWN stories. . ."

"Get over it," said ACD, "This is crackfic."

"Now," said JRRT, "The time has come for...ROOM ASSIGNMENTS."

"Okay," said Leggy the Elf/Irene Adler, "But I'm not taking anything next door to Bored-with-the-Mire - his snake is looking at me and I don't like it."

"And I," said the modern Holmes, "refuse to room with that WOMAN."

"THE Woman, you mean," corrected Victorian Holmes.

"No, THAT woman," said the modern Holmes with a sneer, "Thank God *I* am not the one who she chained naked to a bed."

"THAT IS D*** SACRILEGIOUS NONSENSE AND YOU KNOW IT!!!! IT NEVER HAPPENED!!!!"

"Well," said Mycroft, "This is scaring me very much. Who said this happened?"

"Some person named Guy Ritchie."

"A POX ON YOU GUY RITCHIEEEEEEE!!!!!" yelled ACD fanatically, "I'M GONNA SUE YOUR SHORTS OFF!"

"They already are," said JRRT, "He's chained naked to a bed, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," said ACD, calming down, "So why did they call him Sherlock Holmes"?

"Oh, they thought it would be nice to smash the ethical principles of every Sherlockian society at once."

Watson suddenly raised his hand. "I have a question."

ACD cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Can we change our mission to assassinating this Guy Ritchie?"

Dr. Roylott yelled "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!! FINALLY!!! AN EXCUSE TO USE MY SNAKE THAT DOES NOT INVOLVE PETTICOATS GIRLY AND SCREAMING!!!"

Victorian Holmes glared at Roylott. "You imbecile. That's just a rubber snake."

The insane doctor returned the glare with bloodshot eyes of menacing evil, and he whipped the snake off his shoulders and tied it into a lasso knot, "Yeeeeeeeee - hawwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!" he shouted crazily, "CATTLE DRIIIIVE!!!!!!"

"AUUGHHHH!" cried Watson as the snake hit his face. "I'm allergic to plastic!"

Roylott stared. "But you're a doctor! What about your glove-"

"He uses fuzzy mittens in his practice." Holmes replied irritably.

Adler smirked, "Is that why Guy Ritche thinks you two are. . ."

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT" screeched JRRT, "A WHOLE BUNCH OF NUTCASES THINK THAT OVER IN THE LOTR SECTION!!!!!!!"

Adler looked confused, "Lord of the Rings fans think Holmes and Watson are superheroes?"

Tolkien sagged in relief.

"Not so," the know-it-all Victorian Holmes countered. "What he meant was--"

"Don't bespeak that horrid thing. I simply cannot bring myself to hear it said," a voice drawled from the corner of the room.

"Oh no," mumbled Watson, "PERCY BLAKENEYYYYY???????? What next? Dr. WHO????

"Welllll, actually, it's just the THE Doctor," another voice piped up from the shadows.

"OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!!!" shouted both Holmes, with extreme irritation, "WE ARE IN THE LAND OF MORE DOORS, TRYING TO GET BACK THE PENNY!!!!!!!!! ENOUGH WITH THE CROSSOVERS ALREADY!!!!!"

"Actually," said The Doctor, "You're in the TARDIS. . . is there somewhere I can take you fellows?"

"I'm actually a tad late for tea time," mumbled Watson.

"La!" exclaimed Sir Percy, "capital notion!"

"Tea?" asked the Doctor, rather unnecessarily, "Boring stuff, that. . . . . . ." he tapped his fingers against his chin, then perked up immensely, "I HAVE JUSSSST THE THING!!!!!" he shouted, then started to fling himself at every available surface, turning doorknobs and pushing buttons that the League of Nine Penny Searchers had not even noticed before. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As had become the usual, sparkles filled the air, and with a screech, everyone was somewhere else, and in a twinkling, Mount Doom Bed and Breakfast had melted into rather improbable forest that EVERYONE recognized as Wonderland. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Watson," said the Victorian Holmes. "Do we have a large couch in our rooms at Baker Street?"

"Uh, I don't think-"

"Get one. I need therapy sessions when we get back."

* * *

Ohyeah. . . we're bringin' crazy back. . .


End file.
